Transatlantic thoughts on Culture, Language, and Education

Main menu

Post navigation

How to stop being awkward: Move to France

The beauty of there being about 7000 languages in the world is that, sometimes, there simply is no equivalent for a word in another language. An example is the difficulty of translating “awkward” into French.

English-French dictionaries suggest maladroit, gauche, embarassant, or inconfortable as French equivalents, but – while “awkward” certainly encompasses the notions of “clumsy,” “tactless,” “embarrassing,” and “uncomfortable” – it’s simultaneously broader and more incisive. “Awkward” bypasses situational discomfort and cuts to the cricket-chirping, blush-inducing, self-berating heart of the matter.

In my view, there is no other word that better describes the American adolescent experience.

Okay, fine: there is no other word that better describes my American adolescent experience.

A triptych from my high school years: green corduroy pants, repressed goth outfit, and a bad dye job. Acne-ridden face has been censored for the love of all that is holy.

For years, I simply accepted my awkwardness as a given. I didn’t think that I would grow out of it, nor did I even try to fight it. On the checklist of awkwardness, I ticked off every box.

Magically, moving to Paris – previously as a student and now as a teaching assistant – seemed to cure my awkwardness. Not because I was suddenly sartorially gifted (though I did make a half-hearted effort) or because I acquired social grace. It was simply because the word “awkward” doesn’t exist in French.

This is an epiphany I have again and again. Whenever I think I’m being “awkward,” I try to see myself from a French person’s point of view. That’s when I realize that I literally cannot be “awkward.” Instead, I have to be described through proximate terms.

HURRAY!

For example, I can be “sloppy” or “look like a tourist” (as when I first arrived in Paris over two years ago and was sporting bell bottoms and Keds, while all the Parisian women were flaunting skinny jeans and high-heeled boots).

I sacrificed canvas shoes and capris to assimilate into Parisian society. I still miss them sometimes.

I can be “really, really stupid” (as when my host mom asked me to keep the artisan soft cheese “in the top part of the refrigerator,” and I stuck it in the freezer).

I can be “unrefined” (like that time my host mom bought a box of [artisan, again, dang it!] chocolates for me to give my family as a gift, and I ate it in one night [then had to admit it the next day when she asked about the box, of course]).

Or “blundering” (exemplified by my efforts to cut roast at a French dinner party where I spent minutes sawing the plate with a knife; finally, Z cut it for me after another guest nudged him and raised their eyebrows in my direction).

Of course, it’s also possible to make a “faux pas” (as I did at a recent birthday soiree for Z’s sister-in-law, when his niece tried to guess my age and suggested the sister-in-law’s age of 41 — at which point, I unthinkingly gasped and expressed horror in front of everyone).

BUT, but, but… at least I’m not awkward. All these terms that can replace “awkward” are situational. They can describe how I act under a set of circumstances but they can’t describe my overarching personality.

This is a major victory for me. When I first realized this, I thought: I could go back to high school with this victory. Even college. Without my awkwardness, I wouldn’t be uncool. I could even be cool. I could even be popular.

And the astounding thing is, at the school where I teach, I kinda am.

This is a source of constant surprise.

When a male student acknowledged that he once worked as a model at the Abercrombie and Fitch on Fifth Avenue in New York, I let slip an admiring “WOW!” The class burst into giggles and “WOW”s echoed across the room, but it was the attractive young man – not me – that blushed.

When an English lesson was going particularly well, and I was delighted at how everyone was actually participating, a joyful, seemingly random “Oh my God!” escaped my lips. Again, the room echoed with “Oh my God!”s but the laughter was friendly, not cruel.

My overenthusiastic “Amazing!”s and “Awesome!”s and “COOL!”s elicit similar responses.

So, alright, I’m as awkward as I’ve ever been. But being a foreigner in France means you can get away with some things. Even being French means you can get away with some things.

Because I’m convinced that the secret to the French je ne sais quoi – that air of indescribable charm people ascribe to the French – is simply this: France is a country where awkwardness doesn’t exist.

15 thoughts on “How to stop being awkward: Move to France”

I remember those pants. And that Goth period. And that hair dye. When I die I expect you at my funeral as I remember all your acne-ridden moments. Don’t forget when you wanted to be a witch either. Wiccan. Whatever.

Anyway, this was too funny- particularly the bit about the cheese. Lmfao.

Тоска wraps all these things into one word, and more, simultaneously. It’s that gnawing in your chest accompanying the certain knowledge that no matter what, you will never know a home, nor love, nor achieve any ideal worth achieving. It’s also the kind of anguished nostalgia for something that you’ve never known that makes it difficult to breathe, and the simultaneous awareness of your own petty insignificance. And even that’s not quite broad enough.

Lucky you, that the modifier you’ve molted has such a key externally-defined component that a mere change of language allowed you to shed 🙂

I didn’t realise they don’t have a translation for this word… amazing as they’re one of the most awkward group of people I’ve encountered. I, too, loved loosing my awkwardness once moving here and all my weirdness could just be put down to my Anglo-ness instead! xx

This is, positively, my most favorite thing I have read ALL week!!!! What a wonderful post!
I do remember acquiring an awkwardness upon my first couple years in France, and have been methodically erasing it over the years with careful attention and observation of the French, but, this post just makes it now seem all that much more charming!!! So perhaps I will keep some remnants of awkwardness around, for aesthetics sake. Merci ma belle! 😉